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by windscryer
Summary: Tag for 4.17 It's A Terrible Life. With the MotW successfully taken care of, Dean and Sam have some unfinished business to deal with in regards to their old friends, the Ghostfacers.


"I think we should do the next segment on vampires."

"I thought vampires were extinct. Isn't that what Sam said?"

"Oh, yeah, because we can totally trust what _Sam_ said."

"Uh, actually, Ed . . ."

A loud knock on the door interrupted the conversation.

A glance showed Harry rising. "Finally! Dude, we order from this place every week. How can the delivery guy keep getting . . . lost?"

"I don't know. Maybe because he's a douche that's stuck in a crappy job and taking it out on us because he's jealous?"

Silence followed.

"Harry?" Ed said, when he realized that something was wrong. He looked up. "What are you- Oh s_hit!_" He shot to his feet as Harry was escorted back into the room by Dean's hand on his collar, Sam following on their heels.

Both brothers looked quite pissed.

"Hi, Ed," Dean said in a falsely chipper voice. He grinned disturbingly and Ed couldn't help the shudder.

But, he was a man and he was going to act like one. And pray very hard that he wasn't leaking bodily fluids of any kind before the evening was over.

"Dean. Sam. To, uh, to what do we owe this . . . pleasure, gentlemen?"

Dean shoved Harry so that he stumbled forward and then skittered around to where he was hiding behind Ed. The pussy.

Dean just kept smiling. Sam, however, was not content to stand still and he began a slow circle of the room, poking at things and looking closer when something caught his attention.

"Pleasure?" Dean said. "Oh this isn't going to be pleasant for you. Not unless you're into a little bit of S&M. You boys have a dark side?" Sam shot Dean a look and Dean's face screwed up. "Then again, I don't really want to know if you do. Scratch that."

Harry—who had opened his mouth—shut it.

And then reopened it to ask, "Why are you here?"

Dean's smile returned.

"We stumbled over your website the other day—totally by accident I assure you—and saw . . . some very interesting things."

Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshit.

"Really?" Ed said, trying to keep his voice in a manly register. "Like, uh, like what?"

"Instructional videos," Sam said, brow furrowed as he turned a half-repaired EMF meter over in his hands. He set it aside and looked directly at Ed. "On how to hunt."

Ed swallowed. Was it just him or were Sam's eyes sucking up the light in the room? Like little black holes with a hazel accretion disk.

"Uh . . ." Harry said. Obviously he was going to be useless.

"Well, we figured that knowledge shared was knowledge gained and-"

"Take them down," Dean said. Weird. The black hole thingy was genetic apparently. Creepy.

"Take . . . what?" Harry squeaked.

Ed swallowed again. Oh fuck. Was he talking to them or Sam? Ed's eyes flicked back and forth between brothers wondering if he'd even see his death coming.

"The videos," Sam clarified. "Take them down. Now."

"Okay," Harry agreed instantly and turned to the computer behind them.

Oh. Whew. Wait no! "Harry!"

"What? I'd like to live long enough to lose my virginity, Ed!"

Sam glanced up and snorted and Dean full on snickered. Bastard. Not everyone could be a brainless sex god. Some people had more important things to do than try to leave a mark on humanity by contributing as much to the gene pool as possible.

"And when those are gone you're not going to make more," Dean said.

"Dude, we have a responsibility to our viewers-"

"To not get them killed," Sam said. He'd made his way almost around the room but that was apparently strategic maneuvering because he no longer seemed interested in the things around him. Now those damn creepy eyes were locked on him.

Ed swallowed. Again. Just a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer and he could- Dammit, why had he given into his addiction and had seven Mountain Dews since lunch? No! He could do this. They would get nothing out of him. NOTHING.

"We're not trying to get anyone killed we're trying to help!" Harry protested.

"Oh yeah?" Dean said, finally leaving his post by the door and circling around the room on the opposite side from Sam in a classic flanking maneuver.

Damn. They were trapped and the area they had to work with was growing smaller by the second. This was going to end in pain and humiliation.

"Trying to help _how_?" Dean asked. "By telling people how to get rid of a ghost?"

"Yes!" Harry said.

"By telling them how to make their own salt-shells at home?" Sam asked.

"Yes!"

"You do know that there's a lot more to it than just filling a shell with rock-salt, right?" Dean said.

"Ye- . . . yes?" Harry repeated, sounding less sure of himself. He looked at Ed who looked back and shrugged. He had no fucking clue what Dean was talking about.

"First of all, it's not _just_ salt," Dean said.

Ed frowned. "It's not?"

"No," Dean said, eyebrows up. "It's not. Pure salt shells?" he added. "Come on! That'll wreak holy hell on the barrel! Unless you want to keep buying new barrels for your guns which—by the way—gets to be really expensive really fast."

"But if you cleaned it-" Harry started until Dean cut him off with a glare.

"How many years have you been able to disassemble, clean, and reassemble any one of thirty guns blindfolded?"

"Uhhhhh . . ."

"Exactly, Poindexter. Now shut it."

Harry's jaw snapped closed.

"You also forgot to mention that you don't just burn the remains, you _salt_ them," Sam put in.

"Very important step," Dean agreed.

"Wait . . . but . . . You never told us that!" Ed protested.

Sam and Dean both arched eyebrows and exchanged a look.

"Oh yeah," Sam said, then looked at Ed, voice flat. "We didn't."

"Probably because you guys aren't hunters," Dean said. "Therefore, we're not going to tell you everything you need to know to _be_ hunters."

"Well we didn't know!" Harry said. "So it's not our fault our videos were-"

Dean stepped right past Ed—who, let's face it, didn't even try to stop him and actually cleared the way—and got up in Harry's face.

"It's not your fault what?" he said.

Harry swallowed. "Uhhh . . . I . . . I mean . . ."

"Take down the videos. Close down the website. Get a real job. And don't make me come find you again. Because I am getting very tired of playing this game with you two yahoos. Am. I. Making. Myself. Clear?"

Harry's head nodded like a bobble doll in an earthquake.

Dean turned his head and nailed Ed with those black-hole eyes again and he found himself doing the same.

Anything to get Dean to look away.

Then Dean stepped back and smiled. "Good! Well, we'd love to stay and chat, but we've really got to be going. Evil things to kill, an Apocalypse to stop, you know how it is."

They headed for the door and the further away they got, the easier it was to breathe.

Until Dean stopped at the door and looked back.

"Oh and one more thing . . ." he said.

Ed's lungs seized up again. Bastard.

"Douche nozzles? Really? That's the best you could come up with?"

Ed's jaw flapped as he sought a response and out of the corner of his eyes he could see Harry doing the same.

Dean shook his head. "Whatever. Go get real jobs. Douche nozzles." He snickered again and then the door shut.

Ed's knees did a remarkable phase-shift from granite to jello in a matter of seconds and he had to throw his weight forward to catch himself on the table or end up on the floor like Harry.

"Man . . ." Harry said after a few moments. "Is it just me or were they even scarier than the last time we saw them?"

"Uh," Ed said. He had been hoping for something wittier, but his attention was really focused on his bladder muscles at the moment and there wasn't much left for repartee.

"Okay," Harry said. "So not just me then."

There were a few moments of silence—filled with prayers of gratitude that they'd survived—and then Harry said, "Wait . . . did he say Apocalypse?"

Ed looked down at his friend and partner.

"I think he did."

They both looked at the computer.

"Mine!" they cried in unison and the race was on.


End file.
